Amy G. Smith
Reverberations
I thought them gone when the juniper tree fell, the birds that filled those branches, but today they suffuse this yard with song. And you, elder tree, so long hidden behind the unwieldy evergreen, now spread your limbs to take them in. You’ve been here for years, but never part of my conscious awareness—always in the background. Shunned by the neighbors as the source of box elder bugs, you kept your wisdom to yourself. But now I see you; now I see what has been concealed. There, in your thick trunk, I see the head of a thunderbird, wings stretching wide into rough bark. I reach out a hand, touch your coarse skin, wonder what stories live within.
spring storm
thunders in my bones
grandfather's voice
About the Author
Amy G. Smith is a poet living and writing in northern Nevada. Her poems have recently appeared in several places, including Unbroken, wildscape.literary journal, Humana Obscura, and Frogpond. She is currently pursuing her MFA degree in poetry through the low-residency program at the University of Nevada, Reno at Lake Tahoe.